“Send a man to the vanguard and ask that warrior,” Medb spat with no attempt to hide her malice, “where in the name of Morrigan does he think we are going?”

“I will go, Mother,” Mórgor said gleefully, enjoying the experience.

“No, let Andoe do it. He is more senior.”

“Yes, Mother,” Maine Andoe said before goading his horse into a canter. Medb frowned at her son’s back. Am I so old my womanly charms no longer hold warriors in thrall? she wondered. Is Fergus playing with me? Have I made a mistake?

Andoe returned a few moments later, Fergus at his side, smiling as though he was on a country ride, wooing a new love. “My Lady?”

“I have traveled these roads all of my life, Fergus.’

“Of course, Lady,” he said with a smile and a nod.

“I spent some years in Emain Macha, a guest of your king. Many years, actually.”

“He is no longer my king, but I am aware, Lady.”

“I see. Why, then, are you leading my armies around in circles?”

“I’m not following you?”

“No, you are not following us. It is we who are following you, and we are heading south. Cooley is to the north and east. I know you think me a mere woman with no sense, but I do know which is north and which south.”

“Did you not hear, Lady? There was a spancel-withe written in Ogham, denying us passage. We are honor-bound to find another route.”

“What nonsense is this?”

Fergus shook his head and gave her a condescending look, which she would not forget, “It is not nonsense. It is the code of the warrior. We are honor bound by a code,” even if you are not, his eyes continued where his mouth left off.

“Tadg?” Medb turned to the druid.

“It is true, Lady. If Ogham denies our route, then we must find another way.”

“We are going to steal a herd of cows. It is not so complex. Do you warriors have to play your infantile games?”

“It is the code, Lady,” the druid said, shaking his head.

“And if whoever it is denies us all routes?”

The druid shrugged his shoulders. “If the spancels deny all routes into Cooley, then we must turn back and try again another time. The Tuatha demand obedience in all things.”

“The Tuatha would be upset if we did not turn tail and run away from a few scratches in a wooden hoop?” The druid did not respond except to offer another shrug.

“Aye, but it is not likely, Lady,” Conall said.

“Not likely. And why not?”

“Whoever the boar’s arse is, is also honor-bound. It would be cowardly if they were to deny us all routes into Cooley. They would be dishonoring themselves and their king. They are probably more likely to be channeling the armies into a specific route and not attempting to deny us access to the peninsula.”

“How sure are you?”

“Sure. You can wager Ailill’s bull. The boar’s arse knows what he is at. So, we need to be careful. It is a trap as sure as the autumn mists arrive morning and evening.”

“Fergus, your spies said the Ulaid are celebrating the birth of Emain Macha, all drunk and incapacitated. Who then can it be?”

“Not all of Mac Nessa’s retainers and warriors are from Ulster. It could be one of those who aren’t.”

“Namely?”

‘One I can think of…” Fergus hesitated, eyes on the pommel of his sword.

“Spit it out, man.”

“The Hound is not of Ulster, Lady.”

“The Hound of Ulster is not from Ulster, you say? That is strange.”

“No, he’s a Leinster man. Ulster adopted him.”

“So, what is it you propose we should do? Go back to Crúachain and wait?”

“There are many routes. I would suggest we send out scouts to lay our own spancel-hoop forbidding The Hound from denying us passage,” Conall said. Medb looked at him, wondering if it was another trick of the Ulaid. The irony of her situation did not escape her. Her sworn enemy was Ulster, and she had no warriors in her army to offer her advice other than Ulstermen.

“You are suggesting we lay a spancel-withe to prevent him from laying one?” Medb could feel the crease in her forehead, forcing an ache between her eyes.

“Aye, Lady, I am.”

“Tadg?” she asked, turning to the druid.

“It is sound advice. If it is indeed this boy, he must also follow the code.”

“Must also follow the code, why?”

“He would not think to use it against us if he did not.”

“Hmm. That is loose logic, Tadg. And if I refuse to join in with these games?”

“The army will desert you, Lady,” Fergus said.

Sitting staring into the forest eaves, Medb considered her options. If it were true, not following the code would lead to mass desertion, she would be bound to fail. She was not convinced. It could be a ruse of the Ulstermen to trick her into a wrong decision. The delight of Fergus was there for all to see. He had never been good at hiding his emotions. Is he working with Ulster or just trying to avoid conflict? she wondered, not for the first time. Medb looked over her shoulder and saw Mac Roth loitering on the edge of her entourage. She found herself wondering why he was in disfavor. Unable to recall, Medb beckoned him to approach. To see the delight on his face would have been amusing if it were not so sad.

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He edged his mount as near as he could get. “My Lady?”

“What is your understanding of this situation?”

“I must agree with everything said thus far. We are honor bound to follow the code, but so is whoever is laying the hoops.”

Medb nodded and turned to Conall, “Who are our best scouts?”

“Err and Innel,” Fergus suggested, looking to Conall for confirmation. Conall nodded, never taking his eyes from Medb.

***

Watching Medb sit on her horse, staring at the stakes thrust into the ford waters, made Conall wary. For a warrior of the Five Kingdoms to stare at a head on a stake was not unusual. For the queen to stare at the heads of her two best scouts and their retainers was. Conall knew she would not take it well. Who better to blame than the pair who proposed the scouts?

“Did Mac Nessa do this?” she asked of no one. Conall snorted but remained otherwise silent. She had not heard anything anyone had told her. From the corner of his eye, he could see her looking at him with the daggers she used to quell her subordinates. He did not care. There was scant excuse for blurting the first thought entering a mind. More so for one in a position of power.

“No, Lady,” Fergus answered from directly behind. “The king’s suffering his pangs. He couldn’t have done this. He’d never disrespect the Tuatha in such a way.”

“Boar’s arse does not have the skill, either,” Conall smirked.

“Then who?” the queen asked, without turning her head.

“Then who? The same one laying spancel-hoops denying us crossing,” Fergus said, using the tone of a druid to a particularly dim crowd of young pupils. He edged his horse forward next to Conall as he said, “The who is surely The Hound of Ulster.”

Conall wanted to slap him upside the head. Now was not a good time to be goading the witch. She was watching her plans slowly sink into the mire. Laughing at her could only result in a violent reaction.

“Hmm. The Hound is just a boy. Would he be capable of besting four grown warriors?” the queen asked, her frown deepening.

Conall watched as Fergus shrugged. It would be unusual to have a warrior skilled enough to best four men and a warrior little more than a boy, even more so, but that did not mean it did not happen. Conall knew the boy. He remembered the dead eyes after he beat the wolfhound into scraps and gore with nothing but his camán. If anyone could do it, it was Setanta.

“The rumors floating about the camp are that the boar’s arse has been charged with defending the borders of Cooley,” Conall said.

“Rumours from where?” the queen asked.

“Camp rumors, Lady. There is no real where. Warriors gossip.”

“So, it is untrue, then?”

“That, I did not say. It might be true. Might not.”

“But he is just a boy.”

“Aye, perhaps, but he is not just any boy.”

“Not just any boy. Are you defending him?” Medb asked quietly, but there was a force behind her words. “Would the boy not be scared to confront all the armies of the Five Kingdoms bar his own?”

“No, Lady. He is the son of Lugh and does not fear mortal warriors,” Fergus said as if talking to a settlement fool. Conall put his hand on his friend’s shoulder, trying to signal caution with the touch. Fergus missed the signal. “I’ve never known a more godlike boy. We mustn’t forget, he’s of the Tuatha.”

Conall shook his head and wondered whether his friend believed his own words. Surely, he knew all the Son of Lugh rumors were nothing more than hogshit started by Mac Nessa so he could legally adopt the boy.

“Why has he done this?” the queen asked, nodding at the heads.

“It is a challenge. If we look at the stakes, I am sure there will be a message cut into them,” Conall said, calming Dornoll as she edged sideways, skittish at the smell of blood.

“A challenge? What sort of a challenge?”

Conall looked at the stakes without saying anything. He knew the answer to Medb’s question but wanted time to think how best to deal with her. “Go down and look, Fergus. Tell us what the boar’s arse has carved for us.”

Fergus nodded and rode his horse into the ford. He swung down and studied the stakes. Turning back, he called, “He challenges us to single combat. Whoever wins keeps the fords.”

“Who is our best warrior?” Ailill asked as he pulled up beside Conall.

“We do not need a warrior. We have an army.”

“We cannot ignore the challenge, Medb,” Ailill said. “We must fight for the right to cross.”

“But we have an army, and he is one,” she hissed, punching her thighs with clenched fists.

“Aye, we have an army but must follow the code.” Conall tried to be reasonable, knowing the futility of it.

“To the Underworld with your code, Conall Cernach, we cross,” she said while goading her horse down to the ford.

Conall could feel the army behind him not moving. There was no noise, no clopping of hooves, no jingle of horse tack. The warriors were watching the queen and waiting. They seemed not to be even breathing.

Medb must have sensed the hesitation behind her. She stopped at the fords and turned back. “Are you cowards going to sit there and let a boy dictate your actions through scratches on sticks?”

“They have no choice,” a voice called from the opposite bank. Conall looked across the river and was surprised to see the seeress gazing back at him with a smile white enough to reflect sunlight.

***

It was hard for Fedelm not to laugh at the witch queen’s flashing eyes; no doubt, the tools she used to scare her retainers into obedience. Her smile broadened as she pictured flames and smoke billowing from Medb’s nostrils. The witch’s tools did not frighten Fedelm because they were the same a seeress would use. Biróg had impressed upon her the power of sea-green eyes and an unblinking stare.

“You. Where did you come from?” Medb spat out like rancid meat.

“I come from everywhere and nowhere. I am everything and nothing,” Fedelm called loud enough for the waiting warriors to hear, trying even harder not to laugh. She could see the army starting to edge their horses forward so they could hear what the queen and the seeress were saying. She knew many of them would be wearing charms like those of the queen and Fergus: golden statuettes crudely carved likenesses of cauldrons, swords, spears, and standing stones, the four treasures of the Tuatha.

“Everywhere and nowhere. What nonsense is this?” Medb hissed.

“As you will, Medb, but did I not warn you of this? Did I not say your army was to be bathed in blood? Did I not prophesize these?” she said, opening her arms to encompass the four heads. Although their faces were turned away, Fedelm knew their tongues were lolling. She had helped Laeg and Setanta mount them on their stakes. The sight had made her gag, which in turn made Laeg and Setanta laugh.

“I am a queen. You will address me as Lady.”

“You are not my queen, Medb, and I will address you as I see fit. You have chosen to ignore my warnings and are on the cusp of ordering this army,” she said nodding at the warriors, “to break their solemn vows. They cannot ignore the challenge. It would make them cowards, anger the Sidhe, and put all their lives at risk.”

Fedelm watched Medb’s face as it moved through a series of emotions before settling on realization. The queen could do nothing in her present predicament. With the army watching her, an army of superstitious warriors who believed in prophecy and omen, she had to succumb.

“We make camp. We eat,” she shouted, swinging her horse away from the ford and riding to the rise without further word.

Fedelm rode away, reining her horse in, when she heard, “Well, that was easy.”

She looked up at the rise. Setanta stood at the top with his hands on his hips, bare-chested, Lorg Mór over his shoulder, face split by a grin. “Maybe a little too easy,” she sighed.

“Aye, maybe, but it will provide us a wee respite while I think of the next move.”

I worry about you, Setanta. You do not seem to understand what you have awoken, she thought while smiling up at him. It is hard to love you when you are so reckless.